


The Closer You Look

by lesbianiconjasontodd



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Sort of Graphic Violence, an actual plot coming soon to theatres, batman and i are on a break so i get to make fun of him, dc messed up so it's my turn now losers, i just think they should be friends okay, mild jayroy because i literally can't help myself, non-canon, or canon of my own, sort of brotherly bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-05-14 05:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19267069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianiconjasontodd/pseuds/lesbianiconjasontodd
Summary: Gotham needs a dynamic duo. These guys better not be it.





	1. Chapter 1

_ “I’m Robin, and being Robin gives me magic!” _

Jason felt the man’s ankle snap when he stomped on it one last time. Part of him was grateful for all the screaming; the sound of breaking bones made him a little ill, even after becoming increasingly familiar these past few years.  _ Blame it on the trauma _ he’d once told Dick, enjoying immensely the way he’d stuttered through the rest of the argument. At least he didn’t end the night puking anymore.

“Please!” the man sobbed. “Please, stop, I’ll do anything, tell ya whatever ya wanna know! I’ve worked for a coupla big shots, real psychos, just yer type. I hear things--”

“My type, huh? Didn’t know Wonder Woman went dark.” Jason pulled out a gun and crouched down to stick the barrel under the henchman’s quivering chin. “I need a name, bright eyes. You hear about this new drug making the rounds? ‘Course you have, don’t lie to me. Wise guys are calling it fairy dust. Tell me who’s distributing and I’ll let you slink back to wherever you came from, sans a peep hole through your esophagus. Hey, hey, don’t cry--sans means without. As in tell me what you know and walk away breathing. Well,” he amended, glancing back at the leg, “hop away breathing. I recommend keeping that foot up a good few weeks. Months, really, assuming I did my job alright.”

The man was hyperventilating now and the acrid stench of urine thickened the already coarse air. Neither of them wanted to be in this situation, their shoes sinking into Gotham’s dirt turned to mud by blood and piss and rain. Hell, had Jason had his way, he’d be kicked back in his apartment right now with last night’s takeout and an Agatha Christie, no whimpering schmucks in sight. That had been his intention, anyway, before the schmuck in question had stumbled onto his radar.

“I ain’t in on the drug scene, man, I got kids! You think I want ‘em hooked on whatever new crack of the week? Like hell I’m payin’ for  _ that _ .”

The vigilante regarded him with something close to pity. “Not what I asked, Jimmy. The name.”

“I--I don’t know--don’t know nothin’ ‘bout it, I swear!”

“Considering I literally just watched you walk out of a deal with a runner for Black Mask, lie detector says I’m not an idiot. And you know what else? I’m not very patient these days either.”

Now the screaming just annoyed him, and the longer this went on, the more likely it was they’d get interrupted. The drop-dead last thing he needed was another pointy-eared family reunion; better wrap it up quick and hightail the hell out of East End. Jason weighed the various and colorful options before him and chose the simplest: setting aside the gun, the vigilante smiled in sympathy and closed his hands around the guy’s meaty neck.

This part, he always hated. Shooting someone was easy, an endless cycle of  _ ready, aim, fire _ , be it lethal or merely to slow them down until he could get up closer. In the last several years, firing a bullet had become as simple as breathing--no, easier, far easier, a well-oiled reflex compared to the nights he woke up sweating and gasping for air in a crumbling warehouse, a wooden box, a stinking cell in Arkham where he could hear someone laughing--even when his brain shrank and shattered for lack of oxygen, muscle memory knew how to pull the trigger.

This part, though, the part that the gun and the distance hid so well, would never feel natural. Speaking as someone who’d died choking on dirt and woken up doing the same, the whole experience was off-putting. 0/10 would recommend.

The man’s eyes bulged like the pulsing purple veins against his temples. His meaty hands scrabbled on the ground for something to hold onto or fight back with; useless, of course, but he appreciated the effort. So many of these low-lifes wasted breath bargaining and threatening, too stupid or scared to tell him what he really wanted to hear.

Jason squeezed a little harder. The man grabbed his wrists in one last plea for mercy.

“In about three seconds, I’m gonna let go. You’re gonna have five seconds after that to catch your breath, then another five to give me a damn name. If it’s good, you never see me again. You go home to your kids and your dogs and your crappy daytime TV, you call your doc and tell him some psycho broke your leg and maybe he’ll cut you some slack on the hospital bill. Once you’re walking again, you never walk down dark alleys again. On the other hand, if it’s bad--” He shifted his weight back onto the bad leg for emphasis. “Got it, Jimmy?”

He let him go. The man hacked and gasped and sobbed for five seconds, babbling something about promises kept and bodies in the river, but eventually spilled.

“There now,” Jason said, getting to his feet. “That wasn’t so bad, right? I tell you, if everyone in this city would sit down and have a friendly conversation like this, Arkham would be a thing of the past.”

“You’re crazy,” he insisted through gritted teeth. “Damn insane. Just like the rest of those loonies. Somethin’ in you wasn’t made right, boy.”

“Now you’re just being mean.” He slipped one gun back into the holster on his leg and clicked on his communicator, the other weapon trained on the weeping man’s forehead. “Oracle. I know you’re listening, genius lady. If the boys are still rummaging through Black Mask’s unmentionables for fairy dust, you can tell them to go home. He’s not our guy.”

Nothing but static answered. He waited a second longer just in case, but either Babs was ignoring him or she had other things to worry about. Considering the growing size of Bruce’s orphan army, the second option seemed most likely, so he gave the guy’s name and the lab he worked at to her recording system and cleared the line before anyone could start a trace. Their unofficial/official relationship worked best when neither one acknowledged its existence.

The sad sack before him was still a problem, but less pressing now with a bum leg and terror still shocking his system. Somebody would probably find him before morning and either call the GCPD or rob and gut him--Jason really didn’t give a damn either way. Now that the night’s work was done, all he wanted was his original weekend plan with a good book and some bad food. Jimmy Prescott may have been a problem, but he certainly wasn’t Jason’s problem anymore.

It took two blocks before he noticed the tail. Nothing obvious, just a shadow following his every move like a video slightly out of sync with the audio. Jason took a right on 7th; the shadow swung around on 8th. Jason cut through a group of high-rises to save time; the shadow retraced his steps with startling accuracy. Jason jumped a too-wide gap between apartment buildings and scraped his shoulder rolling over the next rooftop; the shadow took a grappling line across to avoid the same. The closer he got to his safe-house, the bolder the shadow grew, until he couldn’t take it anymore and skidded to a stop, a loaded gun already in his hand.

“If your big plan tonight was to get shot in the head, I can tell you you’re almost there.” He clicked off the safety. “Did Two-Face send you? Black Mask? Tell me it was that damn clown and we’ll make it two bullets.”

The shadow regarded him warily, keeping their distance. From here, Jason could see he was small, either very young or very short, and more curious than aggressive. The kid’s stance brought back memories of his first time meeting Dick Grayson as Nightwing, the way he held himself as if he had nothing in the world to prove. His steady gaze and imperious head tilt was more reminiscent of Bruce and Talia, though, and--

Oh, hell.  Bruce and Talia.

Jason swore and holstered his gun again. “It’s Damian, right? You go by Wayne these days or al Ghul?”

The kid didn’t relax a muscle. “Wayne. You?”

“Funny. The hell are you following me for? Got bored with the old man’s projects?”

“Who was that man?”

He blinked back through the helmet. “You’re gonna have to specify--”

“From the alley. You broke his leg and almost strangled him for information. I heard you tell him you’d let him live if he gave you the name, but you left him for dead. That man.”

Surprised, Jason nodded. He saw all that? “Jimmy Prescott, career henchman, addict, and scumbag. His wife divorced him a year ago before leaving town with their two kids who haven’t heard from him since. He won’t be missed, one way or the other.”

The kid--Damian--replied coolly, “Why not kill him? If he’s so pathetic. Why would you leave him like that?”

“You heard me; I made him a promise. Red Hood’s not in the business of lying to make creeps feel better. Why do you care?” he shot back.

“I would have killed him,” he said. No doubt in the words. “I would never have made the promise not to.” He hesitated then, feeling out his next sentence before revealing it. “Father says I’m not supposed to think that way because it makes me the same as the people we fight. Killing that man seems merciful, though, compared to the hell you left him to.”

_ Great _ . Just what he needed, another Robin with a morality complex. “No offense, kid, but why are you coming to me with this? There are literally a thousand people in that giant house who’d be more than willing to break down the ‘No Killing’ policy with long backstory included. I’d argue I’m the drop-dead least qualified--”

“I’m not looking for an explanation,” he interrupted. “I just...I know Mother asked you to watch me, so I’ve watched you too, and I noticed that sometimes you kill people and sometimes you don’t, but when you don’t kill them you usually hurt them badly enough they wish you had. I wanted to know if that was better or worse than killing because what we do now doesn’t seem to work the way your method does.”

Jason stared at the kid and the kid stared right back. Neither made a move to leave or fight or finish the increasingly strange conversation. Somewhere in the city, a car crashed into another car and sirens started blaring. Still, neither looked away.

Finally, Jason sighed and clicked the release on his helmet, cool Gotham air rushing to his sweat-damp skin. “It’s too damn cold to hash this out here,” he conceded, “and my place is about three stories below us. You like cocoa?” Damian nodded once, finally breaking composure to look at the pale streak in his curls, the unnatural green of his eyes, the scar tissue stretched over his neck.

“Cocoa is good,” he said, and followed the man down the fire escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a continuation of both lazarus boy and enough for now, read those if you're confused, but not necessary. this might turn into a full fic, might crash and burn. leave a comment if you'd like to see more or if you think i suck! thanks for reading, lads!


	2. Chapter 2

Truthfully, Damian hadn’t planned on stalking his estranged brother when he sneaked out of Wayne Manor earlier that night. He’d known for several weeks now that someone had placed him under protection and rightly assumed his mother was behind it; the real mystery lay in whom she trusted enough to ask such a thing. Certainly no one within the manor, nor one of the many spies loyal to his grandfather. Father could have helped, his reputation as the World’s Greatest Detective well-earned, but nothing was worth sending him into a frenzy over yet more assassins infiltrating his city on the League’s payroll. Besides, this was his mystery. Not everything needed to go through the Batman first.  
  
His only lead came in Mother’s brief reassurance: the debt he owes me is owed to you as well. He will protect you the way I always have, and if he fails, it is me he will answer to.  
  
A life debt, then, and to the second and third most important members of the League. He must have gotten into some serious trouble to something that big to both Talia and her son, and if he was willing to fulfill it in Gotham City under the nose of the Bat. It didn’t seem as though Father knew anyone watched their nightly escapades; Damian was grudgingly surprised even he noticed the tail, which limited the pool of suspects significantly. No one hid from Batman and Robin. That was the whole point. Anyone who could evade their attention for this long had to be intimately familiar with the city, their patrol routes, every tactic they used to do their jobs. Who the hell had that kind of information?  
  
Then the other shoe dropped and the Red Hood returned from the dead and Grayson pulled Damian aside to explain in hushed tones the tragedy of Jason Todd.  
  
Staring down at the man in the alley below, Damian thought about turning back now and letting the mystery go. What did he care for Mother’s pet projects? And it wasn’t like he was plotting anything nefarious; if anything, the exchange below seemed to have ultimately good intentions, no matter the violence. The thought kept nagging at him from the back of his brain, however, the childish hurt over his own mother not trusting him enough to handle himself. As if he needed a babysitter.  
  
Hood’s victim screamed one last time before the sound cut off sharply in a squeak. Experience informed him of what was happening--nothing quite sounded the same as a full-grown man slowly suffocating--but he stayed in place, watching. After a stretched-out minute, he started to tense up, ready to jump in if it went on much longer, but finally Hood eased up and sat back on his heels to let the man talk.  
  
“There now. That wasn’t so bad, right?” His voice traveled up to the rooftop, muffled by distance and the metal helmet, but a definite match for Oracle’s audio file. Damian watched him report the information back to Gordon herself, give the man one last threatening tap with his gun, and stroll away from the alley as if it were a casual Sunday night.  
  
Without warning, a chime sounded on his communicator. “ _Robin, come in._ ” Oracle. “ _Where are you?_ ”  
  
He clicked back, eyes tracking Hood’s escape route. “On a personal case. What is it?”  
  
“ _Wanna talk about it?_ ”  
  
The boy scoffed. “I did say personal, yes? What do you want.”  
  
“ _So grumpy tonight. We got a tip about that drug that’s making the rounds. I need you to meet Nightwing at GothCorp, ASAP._ ”  
  
“Why can’t Red Robin do it? I just said I’m on a case.”  
  
“ _Not up for debate. All cases are on hold until this fairy dust thing is settled, and that includes personal time. Nightwing will meet you--_ ”  
  
“You got it from Red Hood, right? The tip?” he accused. The man had gotten far enough by now to make it safe to start following. “I know he’s been talking to you since coming back. Have you told Batman?”  
  
The line fell silent. That’s a yes to the first and a no the next, he thought smugly. Easy.  
  
“ _GothCorp. Ten minutes. Nightwing can debrief you when you’re close._ ” The line clicked off abruptly, her computerized tone bordering on sharp. It was the tone she used when she expected to be obeyed; not this time. This time, Damian had more pressing matters to attend to, and questions best answered by Jason Todd himself than some drug-peddling chemist in a dusty office. Nightwing could handle the latter on his own; tonight, he got his own answers.  
  
Following a bright red helmet across a black and grey skyline didn’t present much of a challenge at first, but the chase sped up once Hood turned downtown and headed into the Diamond District. Winding around skyscrapers and cutting across gilded casino rooftops, the man led him on a winding tour of Gotham City, seemingly oblivious to the constant shadow lurking just behind his every step. Every few minutes, Damian would hear him talking softly into his communicator, but getting close enough to listen in meant getting close enough to be seen, and knowing his many siblings, the result likely would not be worth it. One of his mismatched outlaw friends in need of a heart-to-heart, most probably. While he wasn’t convinced of Todd’s abilities as a super-therapist, he supposed once a person had died horrifically, talking to that person about everyday problems made things look brighter.  
  
The safe house finally came into view. Gotham felt colder here, and somewhat quieter, but certainly lacking in the peace found in other place like it. Some kind of rusted stain spread across the cement they stood on and a week-old blood spatter arched suspiciously close to head-shot level; the air around them stank of cigars and sewage and overall regret. _Really,_ thought Damian scornfully, _this is better than living with Father?_  
  
Between the stench and the tricky landing, he missed Todd pulling out his gun until he had it aimed directly for him. “If your big plan tonight was to get shot in the head,” the man said coolly, “I can tell you you’re almost there.”  
  
The Batcomputer’s files for the second Red Hood, AKA Jason Todd, had remained blank for over a year from the time he first mysteriously appeared. Grayson and Father avoided the file constantly, acting as though it didn’t exist in the system, even though they were the ones who had put it there. Drake, on the other hand, opened it from his tablet every now and then, the activity logs spiking on nights when the (hero? villain? prodigal son?) subject showed up on their radar wreaking havoc and his own permanent brand of justice; occasionally, Drake would add little facts about his fighting style and common haunts, or else personal details from before he died and became all he was today, but they were all deleted without a trace by the next morning and life went on as if it had never happened. Damian himself had never seen him fight outside security footage Oracle retrieved, but he knew what kind of man Todd had grown into and he knew what kind of vigilante Red Hood was made to be. In a word: principled. In another: ruthless. This was not the caliber of criminal to play games with.  
  
All this arbitrary knowledge and mystery only made it more baffling when he put away the gun and offered the boy hot cocoa and answers.  
Now, sitting on a stained sofa surrounded half-empty bookshelves and the quiet noise of his brother in the kitchen, Damian had more questions than ever. The safe house, to start, was homier than he’d imagined, more apartment than arsenal, and significantly nicer than most places in the area. Todd had dropped his helmet and both guns on a table by the door, mumbling something like “Make yourself at home” or “Don’t break anything”; on the wall above them hung a framed photo of a smiling woman with curling blonde hair and tired eyes, caught in the middle of saying something clever to someone off-camera.  
  
The only other picture in the room was a printed photo strip from the mall with Todd and his sometimes-teammates, Roy Harper and Koriand’r, making faces at the camera in every frame. The last showed Harper kissing his cheek while a yelling Koriand’r slapped a hand over her eyes. Despite his hardened exterior, it seemed the Red Hood was just as sentimental as Grayson.  
  
The man stepped back in the room with two steaming mugs in hand. “I was gonna ask about marshmallows, but I figured the obvious answer was yes.”  
  
Damian mutely accepted one and stared down at the melting white marshmallows. He’d never in his life had marshmallows in a drink; strange to think of it as an obvious choice. Regardless, it tasted fine, and he didn’t come for the cocoa. “Tell me about your deal with my mother,” he said.  
  
Todd sat across from him with a sigh. “Not much to tell,” he admitted. “She saved my life, I owe her one. Watching your back is the one she deems worth it.”  
  
“How long?”  
  
“Since she dropped you off. Nobody specified an end date, but I assume ‘til death do us part.”  
  
The boy scoffed. “I’ve been here for months now and only noticed you following me a few weeks ago. You couldn’t possibly have been watching this whole time.”  
  
“Can,” he contradicted, sipping his drink, “and did. I’ve been distracted lately with a few cases or you’d probably still be gleefully unaware. Seriously, I was trained by the damn Batman, king of the disappearing act. You think I don’t know how to stay off your radar?”  
  
He could grudgingly admit that made sense. “Upstairs, you said you would tell me why killing Jimmy Prescott would be worse than leaving him that way. Do you actually have an answer or is it just to spite Father’s rule?”  
  
“Damn, kid, you could start with a few easy ones before we get into it.” He set his mug down near the photo strip on the desk, his expression suddenly grave. “Damian, I don’t want you thinking I take any of this lightly. I know Bruce thinks I’m a kid playing with matches and Dick thinks I’m just nuts, but I do actually think about my bad decisions before I make them. When I kill, I kill for a reason. When I don’t, there’s a reason there too.”  
  
“And?” Damian prompted. “What’s the difference? Jimmy Prescott is most likely going to die out there regardless. Why promise to spare him at all?”  
  
He knew he’d hit a nerve when Todd’s breathing faltered. “He’s a lowlife who got mixed up in a bigger scheme than he thinks. Ultimately, he’s not a part of it. What I needed was information and all killing him would have done is shut him up, so hurting him bad enough he thinks I’m gonna kill him is the best option next to him just straight up telling me. Not to mention the guy’s beaten his wife and kids worse than that for years; karma sure is a bitch.”  
  
There. So he did have a code after all. Reexamining his list, Damian started rattling off each item. “Abusive husbands or fathers. Murderers. Rapists. Drug lords who deal to children. Anyone associated with the Joker. Is that everyone you care to go after, or am I missing someone?”  
  
The man blinked back at him. His eyes, strangely, flashed Lazarus green. “Nope, I think that’s it. Why the hell do you care?”  
  
“I am attempting to figure out what Mother and Father see in you that they don’t in me. Clearly they both trust you more seeing as you’re here and not being bars or dead--again. What do you provide that I cannot?”  
  
“It’s not a popularity contest, and if it were, you’d be in the lead by a long shot. Bruce doesn’t trust me and all Talia sees is someone she can use without feeling too guilty about it. Take it as a compliment--”  
  
“A compliment. That she doesn’t trust me to handle myself as Robin or a Wayne. She thinks I’m going to fail like you did, so she asked you specifically to watch my every move for the same mistakes you made--”  
  
“Okay, time out,” he snapped. “This isn’t some kind of wild shot at your ego; I’m basically a glorified babysitter with more weapons training. Your mom trusts you plenty, Bruce thinks you’re at least good enough to take over Robin, and from what I’ve seen, you’re capable and resourceful and you really have nothing to worry about. You came to me for answers, and I’m sorry you don’t like the ones you got, but I have no problem kicking you out if you’re gonna turn it into my problem. Now sit back down and drink your damn cocoa.”  
  
Damian sat back down and picked up his damn cocoa. From the table by the doorway, the helmet’s communication system chirped, pulling Todd’s attention away for a moment. He made no move to pick it up or answer, but Damian already knew who it was. He had been gone for far longer than ten minutes and Oracle did not like when he disobeyed.  
  
“Who is the woman in that picture?” he asked quietly, hoping to change the subject and divert interest from whatever angry message Barbara Gordon was leaving now.  
  
“What pic--oh. Her name’s Catherine. My mom.”  
  
“I thought Sheila Haywood was your mother.”  
  
“Biologically, yeah, but she also got me blown up, so I’d rather not spend the five bucks for another good frame. How would you know that, anyway?”  
“Drake told me. I saw your suit in the cave and Father wouldn’t say what it was for.” He paused and looked away, truly uncomfortable for the first time. “I am sorry that happened. It must have been difficult for you.”  
  
He didn’t sound as genuine as Grayson, but Todd didn’t mind, just nodded silently and stood to take the mugs back in the kitchen. Without warning, his phone started to ring, the low opening notes of some twangy number Grayson liked breaking the awkward quiet in the room. His brother put the caller on speaker before Damian could stop him. “Babs, my very own Jolene. Why is it that you constantly avoid my calls, while I am constantly at your service?”  
  
“ _Is Damian with you?_ ”  
  
“You’re awfully abrupt this evening.” He squinted at the window. “This morning, I mean. When the hell did that happen?”  
  
“ _I don’t have time for this, Jason. Tell him to turn his GPS back on or I swear I’ll send Dick to your doorstep._ ”  
  
“See, that’s what I mean by abrupt. When did we start going straight threats of siblings interaction?”  
  
“ _Jason Todd. Is. Damian. There._ ”  
  
He looked over at Damian. Damian drew a finger across his neck. He gave him a thumbs up and turned back to the phone. “He’s not here. And Dick doesn’t know where I live these days.”  
  
The line went silent for the longest six seconds in history. “ _Fine. Remember this next time I avoid your calls._ ” She hung up first, as usual. The day any of them hung up on her first would be the day that person’s personal affairs were released to the public internet.  
  
Todd pointed the phone at Damian. “You owe me massively, little brother. Why are you hiding from Oracle?” he demanded.  
  
“Why do you think?” he grumbled back. “You’re a twice-dead crime lord with a vendetta against the Batman, and I’ve disappeared while following you. If Father doesn’t bench me after this, Pennyworth certainly will.”  
  
“And you’ll deserve it, too.” The man stalked to door and snatched up his helmet, placing both guns back in their holsters. “If she really did send Dickolas, I ain’t waiting around for him to show. You coming?”  
  
Damian snatched his mask up off the couch and stuck it back around his eyes. “You said he doesn’t know where you live,” he reminded him.  
  
“I’m a twice-dead crime lord with a vendetta. Forgive me for a couple lies.” He flicked off the light and twisted the doorknob, irritation hurrying his movements. The door swung past him--  
  
“Hiya, kids,” Nightwing said brightly from the hallway, his fist still lifted as if about to knock. “Could’ve told me we were having a reunion.”


	3. Chapter 3

Jason immediately swore and slammed the door in Dick’s face.

“Oracle,” he snarled at no one. “I actually liked this place.”

Still standing by the couch, Damian’s expression twisted into an angry pout. “I’m not going home yet!” he yelled at the door. “Tell Gordon to mind her business.”

“Tell her yourself when you call her back to apologize,” Dick called back. “Jason, seriously, let me in, I’m not here to arrest you, okay? I’m literally pretending you don’t exist in this situation so I don’t have to.”

“Yeah, you should be damn good at that,” Jason retorted.

This wasn’t happening. For years, he’d successfully avoided any family interaction not on his terms, and now, all at once, half the brood had descended upon him. His deal started and ended with Damian; the rest of the Waynes could stay the hell away from him or find a bullet in the leg.

In the hallway, Dick rattled the locked doorknob and slammed a palm against the peeling paint. “You’re both being childish. Damian, you do not want to get mixed up in whatever this is. Jason is not--”

“Oh, shut _up_ already.” He clipped his helmet in place and nodded the younger of his brothers toward the window. Nightwing always talked too much for his tastes, witty banter or whatever he thought it was. Jason prided himself on being a more direct kind of guy. Smash the window, break the jaw, blow up the building--the rest was all extras. Damian seemed to prefer the same because he immediately unhooked his grapple and shoved the window open, no questions asked. When no giant bats flew in, he threw the deadbolt in place and stepped out onto the ledge. “See you on the other side,” he whispered.

“Where are we--”

“Just follow my lead.”

Jason leaped off the side of the building into the open air. Behind him, he heard Damian do the same and, distantly, Dick yelling at his door.

Eventually, he’d realize they were gone and maybe where they were going, but even a few minutes lead was better than sitting down and talking it out. Talk from a Bat was cheap, and he was out of patience to pay.

He ended up leading the kid around to the docks, nowhere special, just a good lookout point with plenty of cover and quiet. Pre-Ethiopia Jason liked to come here when he missed his mom or even bad nights when he missed his dad. Bruce knew not to follow him here and Dick probably never knew about it, though he suspected Alfred and Babs might. Alfred wasn’t a snitch, though, and Barbara had more pressing matters to deal with if his lead on this new drug panned out.

The kid dropped beside him and huffed a loud breath. “I don’t want to go home yet,” he insisted.

“Does this look like a mansion? If I were taking you home, your ass would be home.” He looked out at the bay, trying to calm his rioting emotions by counting the waves as they came in. It never worked, but it bored him enough to calm down anyway just for something to do. “Tell me why,” he said at last.

Damian scowled at his shoes. “I’m tired of not getting answers,” he admitted angrily. “Everyone keeps things from me like it isn’t important for me to know. How am I to be an effective heir if I only hear what they want me to hear?”

“Effective--right. You’re after the cape and cowl.” Jason laughed, still watching the sea. “Dickolas will be glad to hear that, at least. Bruce used to have his heart set on him taking over, but I really think he’d rather move to Tamaran with Kori than let that happen.”

“Would you?”

“Huh?”

“Would you rather leave as well than step into the role?”

He studied the kid’s stony face before replying. “Batman ain’t exactly my style. I mean, yes, the Batmobile makes several points. But the cape, the ultra-deep voice, the air of mystery and crippling guilt--those I can do without. Besides, do you or anyone else really want me anywhere near the Justice League?”

Both boys fell quiet. Nothing around them breathed in the silence. Finally, Damian spoke softly. “I think you would be a good Batman.”

Jason stared at him. “What the--”

A building exploded to their right.

Immediately, they sprang into action. Robin took off down the bay, his line already arcing through the night to the tallest structure he could swing from; Red Hood had his guns loaded and ran after him over the shipping containers, clicking his communicator back on to signal for help. “Oracle,” he panted, “it’s GothCorp. Best guess, somebody found Jimmy and connected the dots. Did Nightwing get anything out of our guy?”

“ _No,_ ” she snapped, “ _he was a little busy breaking into your apartment and chasing you across the city to find Robin. Are you on route?_ ”

_Damn it._ Of course something went wrong, something always went wrong when he got involved. He never should have given that kid cocoa. “On route. Send whoever’s available for backup, but I doubt anyone was in the building still. Robin and I will touch base when we find the dirty doc.”

“ _Batgirl’s on her way. Oracle out._ ”

When he caught up to Damian again, he at least had the decency to look like a teenager in trouble. “She’s angry with me,” he said plainly.

Jason shrugged. “I mean, I think she’s angrier with me for letting you do it, if that helps. B’s gonna be pissed, though.”

“Will you tell Mother?”

“What, that you sneaked out and missed being in a building when it blew up? Sounds like a good deal to me.” The boy didn’t crack a smile, so he added “I’m not telling her anything that isn’t strictly life-threatening, okay? She doesn’t need to know about this if you don’t want her to.”

Robin nodded stiffly and swung over the sloped roof of a church to end the conversation entirely. He would have pursued it, but the acrid smell of smoke and burning metal caught his attention again. First the fire, then the family. As always, the job came out on top.

GothCorp, one of the city’s largest tech and pharmaceutical companies next to Wayne Enterprises, was more than just on fire. The side that used to be all black glass from the foundation to the pointed roof had been shattered completely, jagged remains clinging to the edges like teeth on some other-dimensional behemoth. Thick black smoke chugged out of the empty space, illuminated from the inside by white-hot flames feeding off paperwork, chemicals, and anything else it could get its greedy hands on. A small crowd had formed nearby to watch in shock and awe, including a news crew and several fire engines reaching the scene just as he and Robin did. A couple civilians pointed the cameras their way, but now was not the time to worry about his public image; somewhere inside, there was a mousy scientist just waiting to give up his life’s work and Jason would not let him skip out on it by dying first.

“Clear out the top floors first,” he called to Robin. “I’ll find our guy and meet you in the middle. Got it?” The boy flashed him a quick thumbs up and disappeared into the penthouse suite to start his search. Jason swung lower towards the darkest smoke, flicked the filter in his mask on, and dropped into the mangled sixteenth floor.

The smell inside was infinitely worse, something like sweet rot and days-old piss. Whatever the good folks at GothCorp were brewing here, it clearly wasn’t meant for extreme temperatures. The room appeared to be a lab, pristine at one time, with battered equipment strewn across the back wall and a legion of scorched papers from books and work records coating the cracked floor, some shredded by glass shards from the window. Judging from the holes in the wall above the rubble and glass sand cutting into his boot soles, he figured this was the target entry point with the heaviest blast; their scientist was likely on the next floor up.

Walking through the empty hall to the stairs, Jason ran a gloved hand over the scorch marks on the walls. Strange scratches, not quite claw-like, dug into the space just above the dark stains. Killer Croc, then? This seemed too big a job for a grunt like him. In his head, he pulled up the long list of potential suspects and started crossing off names as he searched the halls to the other side of the building.

Three rooms came into view: a large meeting room, another white lab, and what looked like a utility closet redecorated as an office. The nameplate identified the last as belonging to their suspect, Dr. Louis Roche, PhD. No one appeared to be inside, but the room lay in disarray--not from the explosion or the ensuing fire, but from what looked like a fight after the fact. The desk in the corner had been upended, the drawers spilling their contents on the linoleum along with everything from the top. A potted plant had shattered when it fell and the broken clay shards crunched under his feet when he knelt to inspect the odd purple flowers--and the defined footprint in the soil.

The kid detective in him cheered upon finding a solid lead. He snapped a few pictures of the print and the state of the area, then a few more of Dr. Roche’s important-looking files and his strange plant. He wasn’t sure what it’s significance was, if any existed, but he could always send some Ivy’s way and hope they found her bored enough to help.

Nothing here, though, pointed to the good doctor’s current whereabouts. Likely, he’d been taken from here, maybe somewhere outside the building, but why then firebomb the place? If the goal was forensic countermeasure, the kidnapper clearly hadn’t thought far enough ahead to cover their literal tracks as well as their figurative ones. Why go through the trouble of bringing down a building but not clean up the crime scene itself?

“ _Batgirl to all points, anybody copy?_ ”

He straightened and headed into the next room. “Present. Took you long enough.”

The line stayed silent for a long while. Finally, the girl’s voice crackled back. “ _Hood. Where’s Robin?_ ”

“Searching for survivors up top. No sign of either the victim or the perp down here. You seen Firefly lately?”

“ _T_ _hat old rat? I thought he took a cell in Arkham months ago._ ”

He creaked open the meeting room door with one gun. “Might wanna check those records. Actually, think you could check the security footage here first before the system fries? Unless Robin needs help.”

Damian interrupted sourly, “ _I am fine. There is no one in the building and the firemen need to put out the flames before it collapses; we should leave as soon as possible. What are your locations?_ ”

“ _Supply chain, I think. No one in the lower levels either._ ” The girl hesitated. “ _Shouldn’t there be security guards or something? What kind of fancy corporate science place doesn’t have security guards patrolling at night._ ”

“ _Maybe they got out after the explosion,_ ” Robin suggested. He didn’t sound convinced.

“Or maybe they knew it was coming.” Jason clicked the safety off one gun, drawing out the other from its holster just in case. Nothing about the lab looked dangerous, but his every instinct shied away from turning the handle and stepping inside. The night was about to get significantly worse.

Glass shattered on the linoleum inside. The rancid smell from the previous lab compounded into something even worse that challenged his helmet’s filtration system. Someone hissed an ugly threat and someone else whimpered quietly, barely muffled words escaping through the crack under the door.

“Batgirl,” he said, “Robin. On my location. We’ve got a hostile, only one from what I can see, and a possible hostage, probably Roche.”

“ _Firefly?_ ” Batgirl guessed. She sounded like she was running. “ _That buggy little bastard._ ”

“I’m going in; Robin, he’s gonna try the window for a quick escape. Think you can cover us?”

“ _Don’t do anything stupid,_ ” the kid retorted. If Jason didn’t know better, he’d say he sounded concerned. Unfortunately, stupid was the theme of the night. He kept his mouth shut and pushed open the door, guns loaded and ready to go.

At the head of the room, beyond the smoldering tables and white-hot machinery, stood two men, one in a long white lab coat with unruly black hair and a slick of sweat across his forehead, the other in a shiny silver fireproof suit, a pair of ugly makeshift wings protruding from his back. The latter had his fingers closed around the former’s throat, his mouth an angry gash coated in ash.

“Dr. Roche. Ted. Lovely evening, wouldn’t you say?”

Ted Carson, AKA Firefly number dos, spun the scientist around into a choke-hold instead. “Who the hell are you?” he growled. “Get out or get scorched.”

Jason stared at him. “Who the hell do you think I am, bug man? The helmet ain’t just a fashion statement.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Same as you.” He aimed both guns for the guy’s head. “Got some questions only the good doctor can answer. Mind my taking over before you crisp him up?”

“This has got nothing to do with you,” Firefly spat, backing the both of them toward the large window. “Stay out of it or--”

“If the next thing out of your mouth is a fire pun, I swear I’ll shoot everyone in this room immediately.”

“You don’t scare me, Red Hood. You have no idea what happens next, what has already begun!”

“Mind enlightening me?” he drawled. _Faster, Damian_ . Dry banter could only do so much; he couldn’t draw this madness out forever.

Dr. Roche gasped for air, his hands trembling around his captor’s grip as he desperately tried to find more air. He kept gesturing wildly toward the table behind them, the only surface in the room not currently falling to pieces. “The--the bell...bells--” He cut off before finishing, choking on the words and the forearm around his neck.

Jason didn’t bother looking yet, not willing to take his eyes off the two for even a second. Firefly looked like a cornered dog, panicky and snarling, and the vigilante was more concerned he really would try to fly out the window and get both his targets killed. Where in the great expanse of hell was his backup?

“ _On your six,_ ” Batgirl called in at last. “ _Tell me when._ ”

“When,” he grunted, and dove for the pair.

Three things happened at once: Carson jumped backward, Jason grabbed his ankle, and Roche flailed to his left. Three other things happened right after: a grappling hook wrapped around his knee and dug a sharp point into his thigh, Carson let go of Roche, and their best and only lead disappeared from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: never have I ever read Ted Carson's Firefly, forgive me my characterization crimes  
> also! thank you to everyone reading and commenting, I legit didn't expect anyone to actually see this, so I love and adore each and every one of you! let me know if there's anything you'd like to see in future chapters; next update coming soon!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this one gets a little dark, so skip to the end after "The last part before the main group came into view caught their interest again" to "Bruce paused the feed again" to avoid some gore and a graphic-ish death scene. it's mildly plot-important, but will be summarized in later chapters.

The growing crowd below screamed. Firefly howled and Batgirl kicked him in the head running by to peer over the edge. She winced, turning a little green. “So much for that guy,” she said. “Where’s Robin?”

“Your damn hook’s cutting off my leg,” Jason snapped.

“Don’t I have stellar aim? Where is he?”

“I might be more in the mood to look for him once I can stand.”

She ignored him. “Robin, come in. Roche is out of commission and Firefly’s in cuffs. Where are you?”

Over the communicator, static stopped, then started again. Finally, the boy’s voice broke through. “ _ I’ll meet you at the cave. Robin out. _ ”

He expected her to pick up the argument, but she let it drop, chewing her lip thoughtfully. After a moment, the girl turned back to the situation at hand. “B wants you back at the cave. Not you, Ted, you go straight to jail without passing go.”

Jason coughed a bitter laugh. “Tell B he can’t always get what he wants. Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Probably not. I wasn’t around your first time and sort of died right before your second.”

“You ever try the pixie boots?”

“For a while.” She hesitated. “I was, uh, number four. Before No Man’s Land.”

Number four. Not only had Bruce replaced him, he’d done it twice, and again when another one died. For the world’s greatest detective, he really took his time learning this lesson.

Jason nodded back at his immobile leg. “Not to cut things short, but would you mind? I’m told my thighs are my best feature; it would really help to still have them both.”

Mentioning the hook again seemed to do the trick. Batgirl shook off her nervous energy and sprang back into action, unwinding the grapple from his leg and securing Firefly before he could crawl entirely over the edge. She helped him stand and the two hoisted the man between them to drag him down the long flights of stairs. Halfway down, she suggested they simply roll him the rest of the way, which didn’t sound half bad considering the last eight flights were fully burned out. Had the man’s overly-large mechanical wings not gotten in the way, they might have done just that; it would have made for an interesting exit for the crowd outside.

When they did emerge, paramedics, news crews, and one pissed off Commissioner Gordon stood before them, waiting for explanations, or at least a good quote for the confusing picture they presented. Red Hood was still a wanted criminal after the havoc wreaked in pursuit of Black Mask--not to mention his other various and sundry offenses--and Batgirl really should have had him in cuffs alongside Ted Carson. She realized the error about the same time he did and sighed deeply.

“If Penny One doesn’t ground him after this,” she mumbled, “I will.”

Jason hefted their captive a little higher, waving just a little at Gordon. “Hiya, Commish,” he said, wincing at the callback to their first awkward meeting. Batgirl looked like she was gathering strength not to stick her grapple back in his thigh.

“Red Hood,” he acknowledged gruffly. “Batgirl. Is that our guy?”

“He is,” the girl confirmed. “You might need to have a word with Arkham again; we just put him away, and he’s already on the streets again? That’s just classless, even for them.”

“You think someone let him out?”

“I think water’s wet.”

Gordon hummed, obviously distressed by the news. His eyes kept wandering back to Jason, who could almost see the debate going on behind those thick-paned glasses. Should he arrest him? Should he cut some slack for the help? And if he did either, how would it play on the ten o’clock news tomorrow night? Jason decided to make the decision for him.

Using Carson as a distraction, he dumped the full weight of the villain on Batgirl and grabbed the offending grappling hook of her belt. “It’s been fun, kids, but I’ve left cookies in the oven for about an hour now, so I’m gonna take off. Tell Bats I miss him dearly.”

“Hood, don’t--”

“Not today, Blondie.” He took off in the opposite direction and headed for downtown as soon as the hook hit something he could swing off of. Behind him, he heard cameras clicking and Batgirl yell something that got lost in the wind. She didn’t come after him, though, so he assumed she knew he’d made the right move.

Something the girl told him earlier came back to mind. Why would Bruce want to see him, and invite him to the cave of all places? Damian had said he was heading back there, but the two of them had spent entirely too much time together tonight. No doubt, their father just wanted to rage at them both at the same time so he wouldn’t have to air his concerns twice. All apologies to Damian, but he could handle this one on his own. Jason was in no mood to get into another fight right now.

***

“I do not want to get into a fight right now,” Dick said firmly, his eyes tired as he pulled off the mask and dropped it on a nearby table. “He’s not gonna show up.”

Bruce didn’t turn away from the monitors to reply. “I don’t expect him to.”

“Then why ask? Was it for Damian’s sake? You knew he’d want to know eventually, and you weren’t giving him any answers. What did you think, that he’d just drop it? He’s not that kind of kid, Bruce.”

“I am aware.”

Before he could argue again, the bay doors opened and Batgirl appeared looking peeved. She parked her purple motorcycle neatly, ripped off the cape around her neck, and flung it toward the same table as Dick’s mask. He wrinkled his nose at the odd smell: smoke, chemicals, something too-sweet like rotting fruit. “Welcome home,” he said cautiously. “How was the fire?”

“Oh, the fire was just dandy,” she snapped back. “You said he wouldn’t be an asshole.”

“I never said that,” Dick defended. “I said he hadn’t known you long enough to definitely be an asshole.”

“Seemed like he adjusted just fine to me.”

Bruce glanced back to check the state of her. “Stephanie. Where’s your grapple?”

“The asshole stole it. Does he still have an inheritance? If so, I’d like to take the cash for a replacement out of that.”

“We build all our equipment,” he reminded her.

She folded her arms. “I’m taking it from his inheritance all the same.”

“It was not Todd’s fault.”

The group looked up to see Damian perched at the top of the stairs, his Robin costume replaced with sweats and a green pullover. He looked indignant, as he usually did, but there was a little guilt behind it, almost apologetic. If nothing else, he knew he’d screwed up by letting the night get so far out of hand. It wouldn’t be enough for Bruce, but it felt like enough for Dick. He could relate to this part of the situation: sorry for the trouble caused, still not sorry for causing it.

“The fault is mine,” Damian continued. “I had questions only Todd could answer, and I did not want any of you to stop me. Following him without backup was wrong of me; it will not happen again.”

“It will.” Bruce stood up to look the boy in the eye directly. Even with Damian high up by the door, Bruce’s full height and the weight of his stare made him shrunk a little against the railing. “Red Hood is a dangerous criminal. Going to him, no matter your reasons, without telling anyone your plans was careless. You could have been hurt. Because you turned off your GPS, Oracle was unable to locate you; if you had been hurt, we would not have known to look for you.”

The boy shook his head, stubbornness inherited from his father. “He wouldn’t have hurt me,” he countered. “Todd said himself he does not hurt anyone as young as me.”

“Children,” Bruce confirmed. “Because you are a child, and your actions today prove that, he may not have. There are others who are not as principled.”

“I know that. Do you not trust me to handle myself against them?”

“No, I don’t. A man died tonight. Keep up like this and it could be you next time. I won’t risk that.”

Stephanie traded a quick, panicked look with Dick. As Robins One and Four, respectively, they had each had this conversation; they knew exactly what was coming. Damian, too, felt the shift from debate to decision, but it was too late.

Bruce sat back in his chair and pulled up Ted Carson’s file and prison reports. “I’m benching you for the week. Alfred will take your suit in the morning,” he said. The finality in his tone denied any course for reparations.

The boy disappeared before either of them had time to move. Stephanie flew up the steep stairway after him, her loud voice bouncing a curse off the stone walls. Dick turned his attention to the man in the chair, but he put up a hand to stop his protests before they came.

“I don’t want to hear it, Dick. Put your suit away and go to bed.”

A younger man would have obeyed instantly; he knew better. “He made a mistake with Jason, same as the rest of us. Can you honestly blame him--”

“If he wanted to know about Jason’s death, he could have asked me.”

“Would you have told him?”

“He could have asked you or Alfred or Barbara--”

“He asked Tim, Bruce. I really don’t think tonight was about his death.”

Bruce sighed suddenly and rested back into the chair. He looked worn out from worry and his gaze kept catching on the glass case in the center of the room. Every time he saw it, the Batman aged a little more. “No. I don’t think it was either,” he admitted.

“We know Jason spent time with the League. He could be after Talia.”

“If he was after Talia, he would have gone to Talia. Jason’s been away from her longer than he has. Unless he’s made contact with her--”

“Has he?”

“Jason or Damian?”

Dick considered the options. “Both, I guess. Do either of them want to make contact?”

“Jason, yes. Damian...I don’t know.”

“What could Jason want with Talia?”

The man shrugged, but his eyes looked distant. “You remember him before...as Robin. After his mother massed, he was always looking for someone to take her place, particularly when he found out she hadn’t given birth to him. That’s what started this mess; I wouldn’t be surprised to find him still looking.”

Unbelievable. “Talia, though? Really?” It seemed ridiculous for Jason to pin his hopes on a woman like the Demon’s daughter. He couldn’t be that wishful.

“Why not?” he countered, suddenly almost smiling. “Do you know who he chased down before Sheila Haywood?”

“Can’t be worse than an al Ghul.”

“How about a Wu-San?”

Dick stared at him. “He asked  _ Lady Shiva _ to be his mother?”

“And a woman with the Israeli secret service.” Bruce barked a laugh at the memory; clearly, he’d kept some details to himself about the event. Dick didn’t recall his retelling as very funny. “Talia would be in good company, at least. I’m still not entirely sure Sheila Haywood didn’t make the whole thing up and his biological mother isn’t still out there somewhere. He looks too much like his father to be sure of anything.”

“Couldn’t you just put his DNA in the system and find out?”

“What for? His DNA has likely been altered from the Lazarus Pit, and anything from before is too old to be perfectly correct. I don’t want to give him more questions.”

He turned back to the monitors of the Batcomputer, sobering as he looked over their profile on Firefly. “That aside, what I want to know is what Firefly was doing at GothCorp tonight. Corporate warfare has never been his focus; even this fire seems too controlled for him.” To one side, the feed from Robin’s suit cam played footage of the fire silently. Occasionally, Red Hood would swing into view and Robin would shift course to follow his lead. He hated to admit it, but Dick could easily see they made a good team. Curious, he leaned in and turned up the volume on the feed.

“ _ \--angrier with me for letting you do it, if that helps. B’s gonna be pissed, though. _ ” The voice was Jason’s, somewhat distorted by the comm, but still recognizably his odd East End accent.

“ _ Will you tell Mother? _ ”

Bruce looked up at Damian’s words. He turned the volume up a little more to listen in. After a moment, Jason’s voice replied “ _ What, that you sneaked out and missed being in a building when it blew up? Sounds like a good deal to me. _ ”

“So they are talking.” Dick rubbed his temples, frustrated. How could he be so stupid? Obviously Talia was using him; what interest could she have in Jason beyond his connection to her son?

“Yes,” Bruce agreed. “Quiet.”

“ _ \--telling her anything that isn’t strictly life-threatening, okay? She doesn’t need to know about this if you don’t want her to. _ ”

No answer came from Damian and the rest of the feed was silent until they reached the building and the pair dove straight into business. They watched Damian methodically search several floors for survivors, checking in briefly with Jason and Stephanie, then make his way to the middle of the building to greet Firefly and Dr. Roche.

The last part before the main group came into view caught their interest again. Robin’s suit camera wobbled as he ran down the hall and the feed briefly went dark when he came to a window to climb out of. The boy was halfway out the window when they heard it.

“ _ Robin? Are you--please, you’re Robin? Please help me, please-- _ ”

The camera turned to face inside again. Dick just caught sight of an arm sticking out from under a desk, blood pooling around it. The arm moved, barely more than a twitch.

“ _ Please, I can’t move, I can’t move! It fell on my arm and I can’t-- _ ” The voice cut out, replaced by someone sobbing, terrified. Robin started to move forward to help, then paused when another voice broke through.

“ _ Batgirl. Robin. On my location. We’ve got a hostile, only one from what I can see, and a possible hostage, probably Roche. _ ”

“ _Firefly?_ _That little winged bastard._ ”

“ _ I’m going in; Robin, he’s gonna try the window for a quick escape. Think you can cover us? _ ”

Robin moved toward the voice again, hesitated again. The sobbing sounded louder now. “ _ I’m going to help you, _ ” he told them, struggling to keep his voice calm. “ _ Don’t worry. I’m going to help you. _ ” Over the comm, he said “ _ Don’t do anything stupid. _ ”

The person under the desk whimpered. Robin hurried around the desk and knelt next to them, pushing away debris from the fire and clutter from the desk crashing down. Dick reached in to pause the feed.

“We didn’t get any reports of survivors,” he noted.

Bruce looked grave. “No, we didn’t.”

“Damian wouldn’t have left that out.”

“No,” Bruce agreed. “He wouldn’t.”

The two men sat a little longer looking at the image on the screen. While the victim had said the desk had their arm pinned, the blood wasn’t coming from their arm. Rather, it was coming from a gash in their hairline, a large cut in their bicep, and a hole in their leg where a chunk of glass from an overhead light had shattered when Firefly hit the building. The floor on this side was slicked with dark blood, the same color as the stains on Robin’s pants when he’d come into the Batcave.

Dick hit play again. The victim was crying harder now, their face white as the tile beneath all the blood. “ _ I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, _ ” they gasped out. “ _ I wasn’t supposed to be here, Nadia was taking me out tonight--Nadia, Nadia, please! I don’t want to die! _ ” they screamed.

Robin took their free hand in a tight grip. “ _ What is Nadia’s last name? _ ” he asked quietly.

“ _ S-Svo-Svoboda. In Robbinsville. Please, Robin, I don’t want to die-- _ ”

“ _ You are going to die, _ ” he interrupted. “ _ I am sorry. Tell me what to say to Nadia. _ ”

They whimpered again, their bottom lip shaking, either from tears or pain or the effort of staying alive. Over the comm, Stephanie called in “ _ On your six. Tell me when. _ ” Jason yelled “ _ When! _ ” Damian didn’t make a move except to squeeze the victim’s hand again.

“ _ Tell--tell her--tell her I’m sorry I didn’t c-call--call her back. Tell her happy bir-- _ ” They cut off in a long coughing fit. “ _ Happy birth-- _ ” the coughing got worse. Dick looked away. He knew a death rattle when he heard one.

“ _ I’ll tell her, _ ” Robin promised. The person choked out a sob, choked again. Their next breath never came.

The comm clicked. Stephanie. “ _ Robin, come in. Roche is out of commission and Firefly’s in cuffs. Where are you? _ ”

Damian sniffed. It took Dick a second too long to realize he was crying. The boy cleared his throat before calling back. “ _ I’ll meet you at the cave. Robin out. _ ”

The remainder of the feed was silent. The boy stayed kneeling by the victim’s body a few minutes longer, gripping their hand. When he finally left, he didn’t look back for Batgirl and Red Hood.

Bruce paused the feed again. After a long pause, he said “I will speak with Damian. I would appreciate you focusing on Red Hood’s connections to the League. Understood?”

Dick bit his lip. He realized he was looking for the Robin costume, then remembered Damian had taken it upstairs, probably to try and scrub the blood out of the knees. He sighed. “Yeah. I’ll start first thing tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Bruce rewound the suit camera and hit play again from the explosion. While he normally would have pressed the issue of the man going to bed as well, nothing in him wanted to stay and hear that feed again. He waved wearily and headed across the cave to the showers. If he couldn’t help this, at least he could get some sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Morning broke through the crack in the curtains like a solid punch to the jaw. Jason, blinking in the soft sunshine, still groggy from sleep and sore from the madness of the night before, reached over to pull the curtains shut. He had no extra time to sleep in today, but the temptation to burrow under the blankets for another hour felt impossible to resist. Didn’t he deserve another hour? Hadn’t he earned it? He’d handed Firefly over to the GCPD without complaint last night; didn’t the universe owe him at least an hour?

As if to spite him specifically, the universe allowed his phone to ring at the same moment he finally blocked enough light to comfortably close his eyes again. He gave it his meanest imitation of the Bat Glare in an attempt to shut it up. The ringtone hit a particularly high note in response and he swore and ripped the blankets off to answer.

“What,” he growled. His voice sounded like he’d chainsmoked for eighty years before speaking.

“That’s romantic,” commented Roy Harper on the other end. “Are you still in bed?”

“What if I am?”

“Jaybird. It’s literally noon. Don’t tell me you were going to sleep later than noon.”

“There was a fire,” he complained. “Sleep is what I deserve.”

“Did you cause the fire?”

“No.”

“Did you put it out?”

“I pushed a guy down a flight of stairs to clear a path.”

Roy sighed in a longsuffering way. “I’m on my way to your Narrows place with a great deal of bagels, and you’d better not still be in bed when I get there.”

Jason stood and shifted the curtains to peer out the window. “Oh, you definitely won’t find me in bed when you get to the Narrows. You may, however, when you make your way to Burnley.”

The man on the other end hesitated, then swore. “The hell are you doing in Burnley, man?” he demanded. “I thought you liked the place in the Narrows.”

“I did,” he defended, “until Oracle smoked me out last night and I had to move last minute. The whole damn family forgot to tell me it was National Annoy Jason Day.”

“Funny. I thought that was in March.”

“Roy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m leaving you for Connor.”

“Hawke? You wouldn’t dare. Is he bringing you a great deal of bagels too?”

His phone buzzed with an incoming text. He switched to speaker to read it, letting his boyfriend go on about his many redeeming qualities.

**Rob park @3 we need to talk**

The text came in from an unknown number, but Jason knew the severe  lack of punctuation could only come from Dick Grayson. He had barely deleted it when a second came in.

**About dames**

He sent back a quick  _ no _ . Immediately, Dick responded.

**Wouldnt ask if not important**

**Please**

“Dude,” Roy said, “you still there? Jason, babe, love of my life. Did you put me on mute?”

“Sorry, I’m listening. Did you give Dick my number?”

“Would I do that? Why, what’s up?”

Jason texted back:  _ If it were your business, you wouldn’t have to.  _ “He just texted, wants to meet at the park today. He says it’s important, something about Damian. Thoughts?”

“Does it have anything to do with your fire?”

“Not my fire! And probably not,” he admitted. “I, uh. Remember when I told you I was moving back to Gotham for some unfinished business?” When he got a wary yes, he added “That was Talia. She wanted me in the city to keep an eye on him.”

“On Dick?”

“No, Damian. She explained the whole mess with Bruce being his Dad and Ra’s wanting to use him for some creepy transference nonsense; she asked me to watch him and promptly disappeared with the rest of her problems.” He sighed and deleted the entire conversation. This was the absolute wrong moment for a lecture.

Roy hummed, mumbling an apology to someone on the street. “You never told me Talia was back,” he finally said.

“She’s not,” he replied, annoyed suddenly. “I’m not stupid; I know what this is to her.”

“Never said you didn’t. Has it occurred to you that she might actually be invested in your future? Not, like, parent-wise. But as a mentor, or whatever. It might not be what you think.”

“It is. She doesn’t care, Roy.” He opened the curtains again. “I’ll see you when you get here, alright? Gotta make myself presentable, pants included.”

“You can leave out the pants,” he suggested brightly. “I won’t mind.”

Jason could hear him smiling when he said it. He closed his eyes briefly to picture that smile--broad and confident and handsome as hell. Roy’s unrestrained smiles were part of the reason he’d fallen for the man in the first place; he’d never known anyone to be so full of joy at any given moment like that. It was nice to know he could still make someone smile.

Five minutes after Roy hung up, his phone buzzed with another text, this one from a different unlisted number.

**Datura stramonium. Very toxic when young, mostly hallucinogenic. Non-native. Where did you find it?**

Ivy, then, quicker than Wayne Enterprises’ labs with an answer for the good doctor’s odd plants. He detailed briefly the events surrounding Firefly’s attack at GothCorp and Roche’s demise. Ivy didn’t seem particularly interested in either the doctor or the arsonist, but her interest piqued with the company itself.

**GC focused on pharmaceuticals, your drug could be a street variety of the plant distributed for testing.**

_ Any benefit? _

**Anaesthesia, sedative. Helps with nausea and breathing problems, used recreationally for a quick high.**

_ Know anyone in the business? _

**North side, maybe. No one I know.**

Jason didn’t buy her total distance from the production, but Ivy never played nice with corporations, particularly those like GothCorp that tested on plants and animals with impunity. Whatever else she had on them, he knew better than to push for more than offered; he’d pissed off enough villains in his brief second life to avoid making more dangerous enemies.

One last text from Dick stole his attention.

**Something happened at GC last night. Hes in bad shape and we need answers.**

Jason swore, then called his brother. When the voicemail clicked on, he swore again. The second call took and Jason snarled “What happened” in the receiver before the man had a chance to hang up.

“I did say meet at the park, right? That was a thing I typed and sent?”

“Forget it. If you think I laid a hand on the kid--”

“That is  _ not _ \--”

“ _ He’s in bad shape and we need answers _ ,” he read back in a hard voice. “What. Happened.”

Dick sighed loudly. “Hold on.” Papers rustled in the background and the man whispered an excuse to someone who murmured a question. It sounded like Donna; was he at a Titans meeting? What the hell was he doing at a Titans meeting with Damian “in bad shape”?

He entered the hallway, shutting the door softly, then found another with an echoing sound and a heavy lock. Another minute passed with no noise before he spoke. “Damian has a camera stitched into his mask. It’s standard gear these days, just in case we need proof of something we can’t obtain physically. B and I watched last night’s tape after everything settled down.”

“You mean after Bruce finished raking Damian over the coals.”

Dick went quiet again. “Yeah. I mean, he did sneak off and block his coordinates from Oracle’s system so he could meet up with one of the city’s foremost criminals.” The line crackled static, but Jason could clearly hear the muffled  _ like father, like son _ . No kidding.

“What about the tape? Batgirl and I didn’t see him after we nabbed Firefly.”

“I know. He--he got held up.”

“By what?”

“Someone was trapped on the upper levels. Damian found a survivor who...who didn’t survive for long.”

Jason stared at his bedroom wall, shellshocked to his bones. “He said--we didn’t think anyone was left in the building,” he stammered.

“Far as we can tell, it was just the one. Jay, he really--I mean, I know he saw people die in the League, and it’s not that uncommon in Gotham either...I’m just worried. Steph can’t get anything out of him, he hasn’t even told us yet. Since the fire spread to the top floor before they put it out, the body’s in awful condition, I’m not sure we can identify them for sure yet. Damian might know more than we can pull from the tape, but unless he brings it up first, I’m not sure how to ask.”

“So you want me to do it? Dick, we met literally just met. He’s not gonna--”

“Steph is his Batgirl and she can’t do it. Bruce just benched him and I’m definitely not his number one after last night. He doesn’t listen to anyone else. Maybe you’re close enough in areas we can’t be.”

“Because I’ve killed people. Because I was the angry Robin first.”

“Because you’re family, Jay,” he corrected, “to Talia and Bruce. I don’t know what went on when you were with her, but she trusts you with Dames the way Bruce trusts me. Maybe he doesn’t know you that well yet, but I don’t see a better option here.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut. The details of his and Talia’s odd relationship didn’t matter; they’d made it clear to each other who was using who and why. History aside, the last thing he needed was speculation on what went on in his years under Talia’s care. If Bruce was ever going to forgive him, if he was ever going to forgive Bruce, those years were better off an ugly set of memories he kept shoved in a box at the back of his closet.

Finally, he scrubbed a hand over his face and blew out a sigh. “Fine! Fine. I’ll do my best. But I’m not taking him out for burgers and bonding time, alright?”

“I think his definition of bonding time involves swords instead of fries, but it’s up to you. I appreciate it, little wing.”

“Call me anything even approaching  _ little wing _ again and I’ll set your disco suit on fire. And tell Kori to stop giving out my number.”

“How do you know Kori gave me--”

“She likes it when we all hold hands around the campfire and weep over shared trauma. Not my thing. Lose this number, dickhead.” He hung up before the conversation descended into bickering.

_ Damian _ . Why wouldn’t he mention finding a survivor? Even if they died, he knew that was important information both the police and Bruce would need to build their case. How was this body any different from the countless other bodies he saw every day in Nanda Parbat, and at least weekly in Gotham’s own streets? No part of this conversation would end well.

Reluctantly, he shot off a text to Roy to meet him at the park instead. Nice as it would be to have his archer all to himself for a few hours, Roy knew better than anyone how to get kids to unload their feelings. Maybe he would understand what Jason could possibly say to the brother he’d just met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry of the long absence! life got wild but i'm still committed to this dumb fic and we're gonna get through it eventually! as always, thanks for reading :)


End file.
